


Behind the Storm We Feel

by Lyrica (LyricaB)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Missing Scene, Smut, Storm Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricaB/pseuds/Lyrica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A storm is brewing, Jim is feeling its effects, and Blair's bored.</p>
<p>Missing scene from the episode, Storm Warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Storm We Feel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a late convert to TS, and one of the first episodes I saw in entirety was Storm Warning. At the time, a scenario that popped into my head and just kept playing over and over involved Jim's reaction if Blair kept up his complaints about conditions--you know, 'Bored, baby? Take your hair down and come here.' Then a kind soul sent me copies of all the eps (thanks, K!) and I watched Storm Warning again. This time the thing that caught my attention was at the end, when Blair overhears Rucker's phone conversation and says, 'That explains it.' Huh? Explains what? This is the scene that came from those two reactions. 
> 
> This is for Naomi, who was kind and brave enough to take on a TS newbie. Thanks for beta-reading, editing, cheerleading and for writing all those letters. Posting a first story in a new fandom is scary, but you made it easy for me.

 

 

> With shouts the torrents down the gorges go,  
>  And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:  
>  The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.
> 
> Misgivings, Herman Melville

Jim Ellison rolled the flattest, lumpiest pillow until it fit underneath his knees just right, and then punched and scrunched the other  
two into the perfect support for his head and neck. He wriggled, trying to get comfortable, stretched out on his back on the long couch,  
trying to relax. 

The worst of the storm seemed to have passed. The wind was still blowing, rattling a loose shutter on the other side of the  
house. He could hear the whisper of it against the clapboards, the crash of waves on the rocks along the shore, but the sounds  
alone he could handle, as long as the thunder and lightning settled down to something manageable to Sentinel enhanced senses. 

It was something to which he still wasn't accustomed, the way his body reacted to a storm. Not only the buffeting of his senses,  
the bright light and the sound, but the enhanced _feel_ of electricity and sound. Out here, on the island, it seemed even more  
intense than it did in Cascade, almost as if he was as exposed as the land was, at the mercy of the elements. 

Focusing his gaze on the first page of a ragged paperback, he dialed his sight up so that he'd be able to read by the light of the  
lantern. Then he shifted his head into an even better position. From the blurb on the crumpled back cover, it wasn’t much of a  
story--part mystery, part modern western, all bad writing--but it was a distraction from the caress of the storm on his skin. 

He didn’t even glance up as his partner came out of the small bathroom, hoping his silence and stillness would communicate  
itself to Blair. 

What a joke! His partner was a storm unto himself. 

It would be saner to wish for snow in the middle of July than to wish that Blair wasn't going to start right back up where  
he'd left off when he went in to take his shower. Blair wasn’t about to let him get comfortable. Blair was agitated and annoyed  
and cold and probably still incensed at Jim's treatment of Blair's damsel in distress of the week. 

How could a voice that normally was so sweet and rich, that grounded him, remind him momentarily of the high pitched whine  
of a mosquito? He frowned with annoyance and concentrated on the words marching across the yellowed paper, unable to  
block out the litany of discomforts that were all his fault, by default. 

_No television. No good books. **No** books except for cassette tapes in Mandarin Chinese and Coast Guard technical  
manuals…_

Ignoring the book Jim was hiding behind… 

,em>Not that it mattered, because there wasn't any power to read by. And there wasn't any heat. And there wasn't any hot water.  
And the humidity was, like, 99%. 

And then to the real reason for the tirade… 

_And why didn't Jim believe Monique's story? It was obvious she was terrified of her boyfriend. And…and…and…_

As he thought of the woman, Jim dialed up his hearing, filtering out the drone of the storm outside, shifting his partner's voice  
into a soft, background rumble to keep himself grounded. He tracked through the night quiet of the house, dismissing the drip of  
the kitchen faucet, the hum of the refrigerator, the creaking of the side of the house that was taking the brunt of the wind. Once  
he'd assured himself that Monique was sleeping on the small cot off the kitchen, where he'd left her, he retreated back to his  
partner's annoyed, agitated voice. 

With his attention centered in the room, he tried to do what he'd just done in order to check on the woman. He tried to dial his  
hearing down and tune out the disgruntled voice of his Guide. The only problem with using someone's voice as a ground, he'd  
discovered, was that sometimes his own instincts resisted letting it go. His hearing _wanted_ to stay tuned in. Most of the time,  
he enjoyed his partner's exuberant vocalizations. And it wasn't exactly that he wanted to tune Blair out. He wanted to maybe  
just muffle him a bit, just…overlook Blair’s bad mood. 

It wasn't like Blair never put up with his bad moods, and it really was his own fault in a way. He’d snapped at the kid about the  
woman, ordering him to stay away from her, even physically pushing him away from her while he was questioning her. _Maybe  
just a little bit of territoriality there, Ellison?_ he asked himself. 

He trusted Blair's instincts about people; they were usually good. But in this case…something about Monique St. James set his teeth  
on edge. Sarcastically, he asked himself, 'Maybe the way they'd found her, out in the middle of the ocean? Maybe the bags of Mexican Brown  
Rucker had found in the boat? Maybe the way she'd changed her story, oh, three times, since they'd rescued her?' 

Right on the heels of the sarcastic voice, the other one kicked in, the low, reasonable voice that frequently asked him questions  
he didn't want to answer. 'Maybe because Blair was paying her too much attention? Maybe the way she kept turning that  
megawatt, oh-so-innocent gaze on his partner?' 

Yeah, there was plenty about Monique St. James to set his investigative instincts tingling with alarm, and plenty there to set off  
the protective ones, too. And plenty there to make him know he should keep his mouth shut and his head down where his partner's  
reaction to her was concerned. 

But even before the woman had shown up, things hadn't been exactly going great. No television, no books, the storm… He'd  
assumed, wrongly, that because the two of them had been in sync during other weekend outings, that Blair would enjoy this  
weekend visit with his cousin as well. 

Rucker was an okay guy, good humored and easy to be around. He'd even insisted the two of them take his bigger, more  
comfortable bedroom. His cousin was next door in the smaller room. Probably already asleep, considering that *he* had peace and quiet. 

Jim had visited the island before. He knew how peaceful and relaxing it could be--fishing, hiking, just enjoying the ocean breeze.  
He'd been looking forward to hiking the rocky shore on the other side of the island, to showing Blair the lighthouse, but he also  
knew how dreary the place could be in a storm. 

He should have known better than to drag Blair along without warning him in advance to bring some form of recreation just in  
case. A few of Blair’s anthro books wouldn’t have been that much extra baggage, and it would have saved him from having to  
lift his head from the warm nest of pillows. 

Like a vengeful reminder of his folly, a flash of lightning lit up the room. With a tiny 'Ow!', he squeezed his lids shut against it.  
Apparently, the worst of the storm wasn't past. It had just been lying in wait for him to let his guard down. Even behind his lids,  
he could see the flash of blue light that illuminated the room momentarily. It sizzled on his skin and scorched his nerves, a  
sensory mixture of the tart jab of a needle and the soft brush of fingers. 

He sighed. Oh, well…so much for reading. He dialed his sight down, and his hearing along with it against the boom of thunder  
that followed the flash. But he could still hear the whine of wind, picking up again, the renewed splatter of rain against the  
windows and underneath it all, Blair fussing. 

"Damn it! Oh, man, I thought the storm was over. Is the power ever…?" 

The change of tone in Blair's voice tipped him off, finally clueing Jim in to what was going on. To some of it, at least--the storm  
was getting to Blair, too. He was still standing just outside the bathroom door, only a foot into the bedroom they were sharing. 

Jim sighed again, tamped down his annoyance to a level where he wouldn’t snarl, and peered over the edge of his book at his  
Guide/partner/albatross. Another flash of lightning touched his skin and lit the room. The booming accompaniment of thunder  
covered his gasp. 

Blair's hands moved in a ballet of agitation as he spoke. Silhouetted against the flickering candlelight from the bathroom, his face  
was in shadow into which Jim could easily have seen if he used his Sentinel sight. Blair was wearing thick wool socks and Jim’s  
blue flannel shirt. And nothing else. Jim was sure, without even dialing up his senses. _Nothing else._

With each gesture, the shirt rode dangerously high, showing pale, tender skin in the hollow of Blair's hip. Hinting at exposing  
what lay in deeper shadow. Promising a revelation of flesh in a flash of lightning. 

"Jim? Man, are you even listening to me?" 

Jim came back to reality with a start. Guilty as charged. So much for not being able to tune out his partner's voice. He hadn’t  
heard a word since his own gasp, because he’d been lying there wishing his Sentinel vision was x-ray, or that his partner would  
time one of those wild gestures with the lightning. Or that Blair had picked up one of his own shirts after his shower, one that  
would have been smaller and shorter. 

He wondered if Blair had any idea of how he looked, illuminated for a fraction of a second in cool blue, then limned in dancing  
candlelight. The orange light from the bathroom candles highlighted the curve of his thigh, glinted on the soft curls that had  
escaped the ponytail. The loose strands looked like they would cling to his fingers and wind around them, encase them in a  
glossy prison. 

Jim shook his head, warning himself away from the whole train of thought. Bad enough to be staring in the first place, much less  
thinking about touching. 'Just don’t even go there, Ellison. You do _not_ need that kind of complication in your life.' 

"You’re wearing my shirt," he growled, and he actually made it sound like an annoyance instead of the thrill it was. Just the  
thought of how the shirt was going to smell tomorrow morning when he put it on was undoing any possibility of listening to his  
own terse lecture. His cock filled as his memory supplied the tart, warm scent of Blair. As his mind supplied the realization that  
the soft flannel was on Blair's skin, rubbing his nipples, riding across his groin. How the hell would he ever get to sleep knowing that? 

"Hey, man, come on. I gave Monique my other shirt. I don't want to sleep in the one I've had on all day," Blair was protesting,  
clutching the front of the shirt in his fingers as if he thought Jim was going to leap up and take it away. 

And, oh, wasn't that a thought for a cold, stormy night? "And you think I want to wear the one you've slept in?" he countered.  
There wasn't even any need to try for gruffness this time. All that came out was a wicked rasp across his tongue. The whole  
problem would be solved if Blair just came to bed naked… _Don't go there, Ellison._

Blair clutched the shirt tighter. "It’s the warmest thing we brought, and it’s so damned cold here. The humidity…" 

The obvious comeback was 'If it’s so damned cold, why don’t you put on some clothes?' but he didn't voice it. He had an  
extra pair of sweatpants in his bag, and if he was a nice guy, he'd offer them. But…he was just as happy to draw the moment  
out a little longer, to watch the tantalizing movement of the hem of the shirt as Blair’s fingers clenched in it. 

He shifted slightly, sliding the knee nearest Blair to the side and up a little, hitching at his sweatpants to conceal his erection. The  
pillow that had been rolled beneath his legs came loose and slid off the couch. He grabbed for it, but couldn't catch it without  
lowering his knee, so he let it go. He didn’t think Blair could see from where he was, but there was no use advertising his  
arousal. Kid probably wasn’t even looking as he rambled off into another tirade about the weekend weather. But as he lifted his gaze  
back to his partner, he saw that Blair _had_ been looking. 

Blair turned his head casually away as Jim glanced up, but there wasn’t any mistaking that heavy lidded, speculative gaze  
traveling along his legs or the sudden stillness in the expressive hands. 

He was good, Jim gave him that. 

Blair never missed a beat in his list of complaints. Never blinked. He went right back to waving his hands in the air. But he’d been looking. 

Jim dialed up his senses just a bit--privacy be damned!--and catalogued the quick stutter of heartbeat, the quick flush of heat at  
cheek and groin. 

The last of his annoyance leeched away, replaced by something that felt very like skydiving without a back-up  
parachute. 

Why did he even bother to hide his arousal? Why did they? He watched his partner, and his partner watched him. Both of them,  
staring at each other when it was safe. Drinking in each other. Both of them, pretending that they didn’t notice the other noticing.  


Why _did_ he bother? And was he actually going to do what his body was urging him to do? _Was he?_

Lightning flashed, illuminating Blair, dancing over his skin, as if the storm was choosing Jim's answer for him. He lay his book  
aside with slow, deliberate motions. He shifted again, slowly, letting his knee slide down, making sure that Blair saw. There was  
no way to hide his arousal beneath the soft, fleecy cloth once he'd lowered his legs. Especially with the momentary flash of  
lightning that lit up the room like cold daylight. 

"…can’t believe how cold it is! This is the most--" The illumination stopped the tirade. 

His words stopped Blair’s breathing. "Take your hair down," he growled, and this time, it sounded exactly like what it was.  
Gruff arousal. 

"What--!?" It was a breathless squeak of disbelief that wasn’t even quite a word. Blair's hands froze in midair. 

Jim wanted to grin. Too good, to actually have stolen Blair’s power of speech. He resisted the tug at the corners of his mouth  
because humor was too at odds with the sluggish throb of arousal that was curling up from his balls, sending heated tendrils up  
his spine. 

Instead, he repeated his command. "Take your hair down." 

As if he was hypnotized, Blair reached back and released the band holding his hair at the nape of his neck. It sprang free to join  
the strands that had already escaped. The explosion of unruly curls caught the light and shadowed Blair's eyes, but Jim was sure they  
were stretched round and wide, as dark and deep blue as the stormy ocean pounding the island. 

"Come here." Another husky command. 

Blair stayed where he was, staring at him, mouth agape, feet glued to the floor. 

Jim really couldn’t resist the grin this time. 

After complaining nonstop for most of the evening, Blair was blessedly speechless. Blair was panting, quick little intakes of breath  
like he'd just run up a flight of stairs. But he wasn't making any move to come towards him. 

Jim opened up his senses, allowing the little gasps to carry him along. He swept over his partner carefully, just to be sure. For a  
moment as brief as the gap between the thunder and lightning, he was afraid he was wrong. He was afraid he'd misread the slow perusal  
of his body, that he'd misunderstood. 

Then Blair's thundering heartbeat, as familiar to him as his own, washed over him. The throbbing pattern of heat, at cheek and chest  
and groin. Blair’s legs might be refusing to work, but his heart and lungs were working overtime. Pumping air, pumping blood. And  
that steel trap of a mind…Jim could almost hear the thoughts forming, processing. 

They’d both been looking, dancing, sniffing, sidling around each other for months, cautious touches here, a lingering smile there,  
the occasional double entendre. It had seemed they were both content to leave it that way. But he was willing to bet that Blair  
assumed, as had he, that if a first move was ever made between them, the younger man would be the one to make it. 

Yet here he lay, sprawled and trying to smile seductively, shaking so hard he was afraid he was going to shiver right out of his  
skin. It was as much a surprise to him as it was to Blair. But, god, it felt good, the ache of anticipation, the thrill of doing  
something that wasn’t quite sane, of letting down the walls. It made him feel as wild and bold as the storm slashing at the rocks  
outside. It loosened something in him. The ripple of fear that sizzled along his spine was heady, like biting into something too  
spicy for his enhanced senses. 

He stretched, reached down and tugged at the knot at the waistband of his sweatpants. He heard the rasp of threads against  
threads, the slip of the cloth against his own skin. He whispered roughly, "Come here." 

His whisper was even quieter than the slide of cloth, but this time, it was enough to unglue Blair. 

He jerked with the agitated grace that was his signature and took one tentative step, then several quick ones. He stepped  
between the couch and the low table on which Jim had dropped his book and stared down at him. 

Jim closed his eyes, shutting away sight, used his other senses to savor the nearness of his partner. The salty, sexual scent of  
Blair, so much more him than the more obvious scents of soap and deodorant and toothpaste. The flutter of his pulse, so sibilant and  
quick it was like the beating of a sparrow’s heart. The heat of his bare legs, so near Jim's hip. 

The heat increased as Blair realized that he was being catalogued by Sentinel senses. A flush raced across his skin. 

Jim's body answered with matching heat as he let his eyes slide open. He drank in the sight of the man standing over him.  
Flushed cheeks, clenched fists, eyes boring into him. Oh, yeah, definitely the blue of a storm, those eyes. And stretched so  
wide. Boyishly, innocently shocked. 

Blair's tongue snaked out, brief touch on his full, sensual lips, and he didn't look so innocent anymore. There was nothing  
innocent about that mouth… 

Jim toyed with the ties that peeked out of his sweats just below his navel, sighing as his fingers brushed the thick swelling of his  
erection. He was so hard the gray cotton was agony brushing against his skin. 

Blair’s pupils dilated, obliterating that beautiful blue. He sucked in a breath. 

It was like fire on Jim’s skin, the soft gasp. His own breathing sped up to match Blair’s. Shocked by his own brazen behavior,  
but not enough to stop, he trailed his fingers lightly up and down his own cock. Willing to do anything to hear that soft gasp of  
arousal again. "You bored, Chief? You need something to do?" 

Another rush of heat surged in Blair’s groin. His cock was thrust out impudently, pushing at the tails of the shirt. 

Jim reached up, trailed his fingers along the curve of thigh that had so tantalized him. Followed the sturdy line of it up, beneath  
the hem of Blair's shirt. His shirt. Soft skin, soft covering of hair, incredible warmth segueing into incredible heat as his fingers  
trailed higher. It would have been so easy to zone, to just get lost in the feel of Blair's skin, in the tremble of muscle beneath. 

The input from his other senses held him back--the faint, bitter saltwater scent of arousal growing stronger, the soft intake of  
breath again, the concentration and tension of the younger man as his fingers walked the length of rigid cock, as he traced the  
heavy curve of balls. Blair clocked the light touch with his hips, mutely begging for more. 

Gaze locked on Blair's face, Jim slipped his other hand into his sweats. Sighed as he cupped his own erection. He was even  
hotter than Blair, even harder. Leaking slick wetness. He freed himself from the confines of clothing, brought his wet fingers to  
his mouth and tasted himself. Salty and ready. 

He laughed softly at the quick flicker of distress on his partner's face as Blair tried to decide what to look at--the gorged cock  
or Jim sucking his own fingers. He took pity on Blair. Sort of… Jim reached down, caressed himself lightly. Anything more and  
he wouldn't last long enough for any of the scenarios that were painting themselves in lurid detail on the inside of his skull.  
Wasn't going to last anyway. Lightning and thunder erupted, and he felt the jagged flash, the sound, on his balls. He was so stiff,  
his cock was clinging to his abdomen, resisting his attempt to offer it up. "Come taste me." 

Blair gasped and surged into movement. Finally, at last, provoked out of the shock that had kept him frozen. He dropped to his  
knees, hooked his fingers in the waistband of Jim’s pants. He yanked, dragging the sweats off, taking shorts and socks with  
them. Leaving him wearing only his shirt, as Blair was. 

Cold air rushed over his legs, curled around his balls. Then Blair surged over his balls. Tongue and teeth and the coarse silk of  
his hair. 

Jim cursed and came up off the couch, supported by his shoulders and his feet. His back arched in a bow, straining towards  
Blair. Oh, god, he should have expected it. Should have been prepared for it. Sandburg enthusiasm. Sandburg quickness. 

Blair never did anything halfway, and this was no exception. He was all over him, hands sliding up his thighs, up under his shirt.  
Nails scraping across his nipples. Mouth fastened on the tip of his cock. Blair's fingers dug into his hips and forced him down. 

Teeth up the underside of his cock. Slick heat, taking him in. Moving on him. Oh, god, moving. He didn't want to hold still.  
Couldn't hold still, no matter how much weight Blair was exerting on his hips. 

He pushed the heavy fingers away, tangled his fingers in the thick hair, forced Blair’s head to stillness and moved the way he  
wanted to. He fucked Blair's mouth with slow, shallow, sensuous thrusts. Sliding his cock along the rough slickness of his  
tongue, the solid ridges along the top of his mouth. Gentle scrape of teeth all around the crown. 

Blair moaned against his skin, mixing sound with touch, and sending his senses skittering madly. No way to sort out the  
sensations. No way to stay grounded with so much sensation coming at him. Sound…sound on his skin, like he could hear  
through his pores. Thunder, blue light, Blair, soaking into his muscles, into his bloodstream. He could hear him, rushing through  
his veins. Singing in his blood. 

"Jim? Jim, stay with me here." 

Blair's voice joined the sweet humming in his blood, drawing him back to reality. Shaman's voice, worried but calm. Hoarse  
with desire. Shaman's eyes, watching him carefully. Lover's eyes, hot and bright and hungry. Lover's thumb, stroking the crown  
of his cock with rhythmic strokes even as he insisted that Jim swim up through the buffeting of his senses. 

Jim eased his grip, slid back to stillness. Gasped out his partner's name. He pushed against the hands lightly, to show Blair he  
was all right. Stroked the back of Blair's neck, fingers warmed by the heavy hair. 

"Suck me," he whispered, urged with just the tiniest pressure of his fingers. "Suck me slow. Make it last." Knowing that there  
was no way to make it last. Not this first time. It was going to be so quick and so good… And if this was insanity, then it was  
downright madness to be already thinking ahead to the next time. But he'd waited so long. They'd waited so long. 

After a moment’s hesitation, while the tongue tip swirled with a maddening pressure against the tip of his cock, Blair pulled  
back. He gazed for a moment in disbelief at his fingers, wrapped possessively around the base of Jim’s cock. Then he lowered  
his head and sucked and licked and stroked with slavish abandon. 

Licked him like he was candy. Like his cock was a melting ice cream cone and Blair was too greedy to miss one drop. Blair  
sucked him so deep he could feel the throat muscles work against his crown. Pulled away and laved his balls until they were  
coated with saliva and then blew his warm breath across them. 

Jim shook. Groaned aloud and writhed from side to side to keep from thrusting. Rough tongue, warm air, followed by sudden  
coolness on the sensitive flesh. Icicles, jagged and hot, splintered along his spine. 

Blair did what he'd asked, what he hadn't thought possible, made it last until he was arching and sighing. Just kept pulling away,  
then attacking, until he was maddened and pleading. Until his fingers were tightening convulsively on the rounded skull, combing  
with mindless repetition through the thick hair. 

Then Blair did that slow, deep, sucking swallow one time too many, and Jim was abruptly, sweetly, over the edge of orgasm.  
"Blair," he gasped. It was a warning, a prayer, and it was much too late. "Ah, god, Blair." 

Blair’s fingers tightened on him, on his balls, on the base of his cock. His throat tightened on him. His tongue… 

"Oh, god…" All his muscles clamped down, his senses turned inward. He could hear, feel, the rushing heartbeat of his Guide,  
but it was no match for the thundering of his own. The first time since he'd classified Blair's heartbeat that the sound of his own  
body overwhelmed the smaller man's. 

Pleasure washed over him. *Good, good, good, so good.* He couldn't tell if he was shouting the words or just moaning them  
inside his mind. Blair rode his shudders, mouth fastened on his spurting cock. Throat working on him. Fingers biting into his skin.  
Blood moving beneath his skin, the heat of his semen against Blair's tongue. 

He groaned. A name? A plea? And lost himself in the spiral of sensation that radiated outward from his balls, fire and ice and  
thick, slow moving honey. It took his mind and his sanity and his bones and his sight. Even the flash of lightning couldn't reach  
him. 

He came slowly back to limp, nerveless awareness to find Blair still crouched over him. Gasping harshly for air, breath gusting  
across his spent penis, burning it. 

Blair’s head moved slowly, as if weighted down. Tilting until Jim could see the glazed eyes, the perfect mouth swollen from use.  
Lips wet. Glistening. 

So beautiful. No man should be so beautiful. Blair made it so easy to admit to himself what he wanted. "In the side pocket of my bag,"  
he whispered. "Get what you need." 

Blair looked at him, still dazed. Drunk with arousal, but he stood. Stumbled towards the foot of the bed where the bag lay. His  
cock was too swollen, too needy, for the shirt to conceal now. 

Thick and flushed with blood. Sturdy cock, shorter than his own, but thicker. Jim shivered, listening to him unzip the bag,  
scrabble in the pocket. Wishing he would hurry. Wishing he would come back and kneel over him, drag that thick cock across  
his mouth. 

Blair came back to him, stood looking down at him, foil packets and small bottle clutched in his hands. Waiting with stunned  
questions in his blue eyes. He'd tugged the hem of the shirt down, covering himself. 

Sweet. Shy. Who'd have thought it, that Blair would be the demure one while he was brazen and whorish in his arousal? That  
lazy smile filled him again, tugged at the corners of his mouth. He lifted one leg and draped it over the back of the couch,  
reached out with the other for the low table and rested his foot on the rounded edge. He couldn’t believe how easily he exposed himself  
to this man. How exhilarating and frightening and freeing it was. How much it thrilled him to see Blair's face flush, to feel  
the leap of heat on his incredible cheekbones. "Come here." 

Blair dropped the condoms and lube on the table, sank to his knees on the couch between Jim’s legs. His hands skimmed lightly  
along his spread thighs, thumbs riding lightly in the crease where his legs joined his body. "God, Jim, you're scaring me. Are you  
sure it's you in there?" Voice shaky, hands hot. 

"No," Jim admitted, smiling with slow invitation. "It doesn't feel like me at all." He arched towards the slow, sensuous tracery of  
Blair's thumbs. Never taking his eyes off the glassy-eyed man, Jim slowly unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest to the cold air.  
It brushed against his nipples, as tangible to his sensitized skin as fingers. "Maybe it's the storm." 

Blair's gaze wandered over him, lingering on his chest, on his nipples as they hardened. 

"We can stop," Jim offered huskily. "If you want to..." He watched Blair's eyes, praying silently *pleasepleaseplease don't say  
yes.* Thinking of Blair's mouth on him. 

Blair's gaze raked the length of his body, settled on his cock as it shifted against his thigh, threatening to swell again. 

Another flush of heat and high color, just when he'd thought Blair couldn't blush any hotter. 

Blair shook his head, whispered, "No." Smiled. Not the flashbulb, brighter-than-daylight, Sandburg smile. An expression Jim  
had never seen before on his face--combination of shy and sultry, demure and calculating. A combination that made it suddenly  
difficult to breath, like the lightning had fried all the oxygen out of the air. Blood pooled in his groin. 

"Open your shirt," Jim said huskily. "*My* shirt." Playfully. 

Blair did what he was told, in that same hypnotized, fumbling way he’d let down his hair, opening it with clumsy fingers, slipping  
the shirt off one shoulder as he worked at the last, bottom button. 

"No, don’t take it off," Jim instructed as cold air brushed his own nipples, made them wrinkle up even stiffer. "Don’t want you  
to get cold. I just want to see you." Oh, god, beautiful, sexy…all that thick, dark hair covering Blair's chest. He wanted to run  
his fingers through it, rub his cheek against it. "Want to see you over me, wearing my shirt, while you fuck me." 

Blair shuddered, yanked at the last button. "God, Jim…" Yanked the shirt open, exposing his slim, muscular body. The crisp  
hair on his chest became soft and silky as it crossed his flat belly, then curled up thick and lush at the base of his cock. 

What was that going to feel like to his Sentinel enhanced skin, that soft, curling hair, the hot, hard cock? "Come on. Hurry." His  
cock throbbed, stiffened with quick, ungraceful jerks. 

Blair’s pupils were dilated again, blue gone to black. His breath was coming quickly, just shallow gasps. And his cock…his  
cock was so hard it radiated heat. He leaned down for the bottle, one of the foil packets. His cock brushed against Jim's thigh. 

They both jerked at the contact. Jim stared at Blair, saw the same mix of apprehension and delight and disbelief mirrored in the  
matching blue eyes. "God, I want you," he breathed. 

Blair's answer was to lean down and kiss him. A quick, ravaging of his mouth with a tongue that tasted of his own semen.  
"Want you, too," he breathed into Jim's lungs, then he was gone. Rising back up to kneel between his outspread legs, leaving Jim  
breathless and aching and suddenly scared. 

Blair popped open the lid on the bottle of lubricant, dribbled it out onto his fingers. Tipped the bottle and let the cool liquid run  
down Jim's balls. Down onto his anus. 

He shivered. He could feel every drop, sliding across his skin. 

Blair's fingers caught the slippery droplets, smeared them back up on him, into him. Skin hot in contrast to the cool lubricant.  
Deft, stroking caress. One finger and lots of slick lube. Easing, teasing, opening him. Sliding into him while its owner's gaze  
never left his face. 

He sighed softly, nodded. *Yes, oh, yes. Please. More.* Blair watching him, while he thrust his finger in and out gently. 

Just when he was ready to beg aloud, a second finger. Twisting in him, burning, stretching. The gentleness was heartwarming,  
maddening. 

Blair leaned in against him, pausing for just a fraction of a second. Question in his gaze. The length of his cock hot against the  
back of Jim's thigh. 

Jim arched against him. A third finger slipped in. Twisted in him. The three fingers were knotted, insistent. Burning. Forcing him  
to open. He groaned at the ambiguous pain and pleasure. Wanted it, wanted it to stop, wanted it to never stop. He dialed the  
pain down, and the pleasure went with it. He grasped at the couch, fingers slipping on the taut material. Dialed the sensation  
back up and the burning and stretching was there. Hissed, "Enough. I’m ready." 

Then Blair shifted. Fingers gone. Heat pressing. Pressing in. Thickness rounder and softer and silkier than his fingers pressing in.  
Taking him. He hissed and pressed down, and his body opened. Loosened. Flare of hot fire and then the pain and the pleasure  
merged. Twined. 

And as the hot pain/pleasure of being penetrated, of being possessed, took him, he knew he'd made the biggest and best  
mistake of his life. Nothing had ever been this good. Nothing else would ever be this good. He cried out in fear and pleasure,  
then bit back the sounds. Tried to pull it back, to dial it down, but Blair wouldn't let him. 

"Let go, Jim," he whispered, leaning over him. Down over him, pushing his cock in deep and gusting hot, sweet breath over his  
skin. "Let go. I want to hear the storm." 

Every word was punctuated by a thrust, an invasion. By hot, knowing hands on his cock. Fingers teasing the stretched,  
breached opening to his body. 

Blair was stroking his own cock as it slid in and out of him. "Let go. I want to hear you lose control." 

Jim tilted his hips, opening himself wider. Cried out as understanding flooded him. As he heard what he feared and what he  
wanted. The storm held back, the need held back. With no one else could he have this. Blair was safety, Blair was freedom. 

Blair was holding onto him, stilling inside him, concerned, questioning. "Jim?" 

"Only with you," he gasped. "Only with you." 

The words shouldn't have made sense to his Guide, but they seemed to. Blair nodded, smiled down at him. "Only with me," he  
husked. "Let go." 

Jim didn't even try to fight it. For the first time since he'd given his trust to the younger man, his guide led him away from himself.  
Lured him away from controls and dropped him into a dark and dangerous place surging with bolts of fire and thunder that  
raked at his nerves. 

"Yes." Blair hissed the one word at him, but the rest were a litany, a song, a cajoling of words and sounds that registered only  
enough to keep him centered. "I'm here. Touch me. Smell me. Feel me in you. You can't get lost because I'm right here. Part of  
you. You can let go, Jim." 

And he did. Released the tenuous hold he had on all the dials. Offered up his trust to Blair, that he wouldn't let him get lost.  
That he would guide him back from that stormy place. 

Sensations buffeted him. Too much sensory input. Overload. Colors and scents and sounds. He swam in it, drowned in it.  
Pleasure so overwhelming he wanted to scream. Blue fire. Scents of Blair and lubricant and electricity. Taste of his own already  
spent semen and new sweat. Sound of Blair's skin, sliding against his own, and his own grunts of pleasure as Blair moved slow  
and deep in him. 

Blair's cock was touching something in him that was like lighting a fuse, and the sputtering fire took off across his nerves. Blair's  
hands were moving across his chest, feather light stroking. Rolling his nipples, pinching. Fingers brushing across his cock as if by accident,  
then dancing away when he cried out and arched up for more. 

And Blair's voice, there, too, part of the storm, whispering to him. Telling him how he looked, how he felt. A husky, shimmering  
tether. But the voice was getting ragged, trailing off. The slow, smooth thrusts were becoming frayed at the edges. 

Jim floated up, out of the storm, enough to see. To feel. Blair, over him, pumping not so steadily. Faint sheen of sweat on his  
throat, the center of his chest. Moaning with every thrust. His eyes were focused, concentrated. Tiny tremors racing across his  
body, under his skin. Heat building. Blood rushing. 

Blair's fingers were biting into his ribs where he had his hands braced. Jim reached up, grasped his arms. The muscles were like  
stone, contracted and straining. "Close?" he gasped, marveling at how easily he'd come out of himself, back to himself, when  
called by concern for Blair. How easy it was to let his own boiling arousal slow to a simmer so that he could watch the other  
man. "Are you close?" 

Blair nodded. Barest movement, as if he could spare no attention to it. "God, Jim." Choked gasp. His eyes slid shut for a  
moment, then flew open. Focused inward. He pushed deeper, harder, and the sensation rocked through Jim. 

"Is it good, Blair? Am I good for you, baby?" 

Blair shook his head, but Jim knew he didn't mean no. He slid his hands up the straining arms. Down to grasp his own cock.  
He pumped himself slowly, much more slowly than Blair was moving in him. "Tell me." 

"Can't. Can't. Gonna come." The ends of his hair whipped his pale throat as he shook his head, as he fought for control. 

"Then come. Come for me. Show me how good it is." 

Blair's gaze followed the movement of his hand, head tilting down. Eyes going wide at the sight of Jim working himself. "Oh."  
He made just the one little sound, then he gasped and reared up and went stiff. Back arched. 

Jim groaned for him. Vocal Blair, always talking, was silent in his pleasure except for the panting gasps of air as he spasmed.  
But Jim could hear his orgasm, in the furious pounding of his heart, the harsh breath, the spray of semen into his body. He could  
feel the pulses of it, swelling and ebbing inside himself. Drawing him back into the burning pleasure that had never stopped  
twining around his spine. And finally, as he gave a brutal thrust, Blair whispered his name, and Jim went over the edge. 

So rapidly back to that place that Blair had taken him, that place of overwhelming sensation and lightning, that he cried out.  
Feeling the hot pulsing of Blair's cock as if it was part of his body. His fingers tightened, and he cried out again. 

Blair knocked his hand away, hissing, "No. Me." Leaving sweaty, cold handprints impressed on his thighs as he shifted and  
grasped Jim's cock in one hand, his balls in the other. He thrust into him, slid out, picking up the smooth rhythm once again as if  
he wasn't still gasping out the last of his orgasm. 

He rasped, "Now you come for me." He squeezed down cruelly on Jim's cock, stroked hard, once, twice. "Let go." 

Jim howled. Arched his back and wailed. The orgasm filled him. Blair filled him. Took away all his senses but touch, leaving him  
only overwhelming pleasure. His semen burned its way out of him, arcing up to fall back onto his belly and burn him again. His  
muscles clenched, squeezed down on the cock that was still stretching him, and Blair gasped. Followed the twitching of his hips  
and stroked into him. Out of him. Fingers squeezing and caressing him. Slick with his own semen. Skin moving on slick skin.  
Blood pulsing through veins. 

Sound slammed into him, as alive and twisting as his pleasure. He strained, hearing his own body jerk and twitch in climax. The  
spiral of pleasure and sound climbing higher and higher and tighter and tighter. Taking him. Taking him. 

Then something was inching itself into his ears. Unraveling the spiral. Reeling him back in. Soft, sweet sound with the authority  
of thunder behind it. 

"No-o-o." He fought against it, greedy and frantic that the pleasure go on. "Go away. Don't stop." 

Steel sound, unrelenting. Blair's voice. "Jim? Jim, come on. Sh-h-h. Sh-h-h. Man, you're gonna wake the dead. Come on, stay  
with me here. Come back down for me." 

He slid back into reality. A crash of thunder wiped out Blair's soft voice. A flash of lightning illuminated them in blue. Blair still  
crouched over him, beautiful and flushed. Hands smoothing the tremors in his abdomen, smearing his semen into his skin. 

He didn't want to, but Jim made a real effort to quiet his moans. It wasn't easy, even with the Shaman voice worming its way  
underneath his sobs, especially considering that the Shaman's cock was still hard, moving in him with a slow, ragged rhythm that  
was so much more compelling than words. 

"Come on, Jim. Ease up. Stay with me." 

"Can't. You're…moving," he gasped. Then realized his mistake as Blair slowed. Started to pull out of him. He surged upwards,  
arching. "No, god! Blair, don't stop. Don't stop. Still feels…so good." 

And it did. The sensations were no longer centered in his cock. Now it was an all encompassing, satisfied ache that spanned  
from hip to hip, from his balls to beneath his navel. The sensations had become ripples of warmth. "Don't stop." He growled,  
then groaned loudly when Blair leaned down over him, hands spanning his hips, thrust deep inside him and held there. Still  
throbbing with the aftershocks of his own orgasm. 

He could feel it, the sluggish pulse of blood, the throb of the slowly softening cock. He groaned again. 

Blair's fingers sought his lips. "Jim, you're going to wake your cousin." 

On cue, something--a fist, an elbow--pounded on the wall separating the two bedrooms. A gruff voice ordered, "Show some  
respect in there. Some of us are trying to sleep." 

Jim choked, started to laugh in response to the laughter he could hear in Rucker's voice. 

Blair gasped, eyes stretched wide. The lovely sexual flush on his face deepened, became mortification. "Oh, god, Jim." He  
slumped down, boneless warmth on Jim's chest, and thrust his burning face in the crook of neck and shoulder, whispered. "He  
heard us." 

Jim groaned, softly this time, as the movement slid Blair out of him. He stretched, loosening the knots in his back, despite the  
weight lying full length on his torso. The rippling pleasure eased. Bereft of the fullness that had been stretching him so  
wonderfully, all he felt now was a sweet, aching throb and a need to restore oxygen into his lungs. And an overwhelming urge to shout  
with triumph and laughter. 

He restrained himself and whispered instead, "Oh, god, Chief, that was good." He slipped his hands beneath *their* shirt and  
stroked Blair's back, trying to sooth him. "There's not a word for how good." Let his hands slip lower to cup the rounded ass,  
teasing along the crease. 

Blair, still trying to burrow up under his chin, shivered, and his legs parted. Opening himself as easily, as trustingly, as Jim had to  
him. 

Jim reached lower, stroked the velvety soft skin inside Blair's thighs and the soft flesh on the back of his balls. Back up, to the  
even softer, puckered entrance to Blair's body. 

Blair shivered again, made a sound against his throat that was part gasp, part sob. A little hiccup of pleasure. 

Jim shivered with him, anticipating slipping inside that warm body. "Let's do it again," he whispered huskily. Despite his satiation,  
his exhaustion, his cock throbbed, threatening to fill again. He laughed, pleased with himself. Pleased with them. "This time, I get to be on top." 

Blair wriggled, testing that the cock that was trapped between them really was as eager as its owner. He moaned, "Oh, man,  
how can you even think about that? He heard us!" 

Jim chuckled as he gathered Blair tighter to him. "Don't worry about it. Rucker's kept me awake a couple of times." 

Blair just moaned again. 

Jim grasped a fistful of soft, sweat-damp curls, tilting the younger man's face back so he could kiss him. He covered Blair's  
mouth with his own, smothering any further lamentations. Tasted his new lover, sweet toothpaste and salty semen and just Blair.  
Tongue and teeth and silky, ridged roof of mouth. 

Blair kissed him back, kissed him breathless, but refused to be comforted, to be roused. He pulled away, rolled his forehead  
back and forth on Jim's shoulder. "How am I going to face him in the morning?" 

Jim covered Blair's head with one large hand, turning him, tucking him back into that perfect fit against his neck. Thinking there  
was nothing in the world he couldn't face, so long as he could feel Blair's heavy warmth blanketing him. Blair's heart, beating  
against his. 

Lips against Blair's forehead, he smiled. "It's okay, Chief. He understands about storms." 

###


End file.
